


Princess

by SkinSlave



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Marilyn Manson - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Amputation, Blood and Torture, Body Horror, F/M, Gaslighting, Horror, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Medical Torture, Mutilation, Nurses, Perversion, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 00:05:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16397636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinSlave/pseuds/SkinSlave
Summary: In a hospital where nothing is as it seems, a woman battles a sadistic demon and the uncertainty of her own mind.TW - medical gore, gaslighting, perversion, sloppy metaphors.





	1. Susan

The feeling of falling jerked her awake. She blinked in the dim light, her heart pounding. Slowly shapes began to form, tiles in a dropped ceiling. She could feel a cool pillow under her head and a thin sheet over her legs.

_It's ok_ , she thought. _You're ok. It was just a dream._

A shaft of light broke the darkness. She followed it with her eyes to a door with a window. She didn't remember having a door like that, though her thoughts were still fuzzy. Maybe she was in a hospital?

She looked down at the bed. It was narrow with half rails, a call button wound around one of them. The head was elevated by about a foot. A side table to her right held a remote control and a plastic bamboo plant.

She tossed the sheet to the side and sat up on the bed. Maybe if she looked out the window, she would remember where she was. As she padded across the cold tile floor, she adjusted her loose gown.

Outside the room was a white wall. There were no signs, no people. The fluorescent light in the hall flickered. She turned her head and pressed her cheek against the door to get a wider view. Still, nothing.

_Wait. What if I'm not supposed to get up?_

The thought sent her back to the bed. She laid down and covered up, hoping she hadn't done something to compromise her healing.

She considered pressing the call button to ask what was going on. No. It would be morning soon and she could talk with a nurse.

_There's nothing I can do right now_ , she reasoned. _Whatever's going on, I'm in the best place. All I can do is try to sleep._

...

When the door creaked open, she was brought back into the room. An overhead light came on and she brought a hand up to shield her eyes.

"Good morning, sweetie" a woman's voice chirped. "I'm Susan. Did you sleep well?"

It had been less a sleep and more a shadowy ignorance. The girl blinked until the room came into focus. The source of the voice was a smiling nurse in blue scrubs and a blonde ponytail. She sat on a stool next to the bed and set a blue tray on the side table.

"We need to take a little blood," she said, "just for testing."

The girl held her arm out obediently and shivered at the iodine wash.

"This is going to sound stupid, but... Why am I here?"

Susan slipped a needle under the pale skin of the girl's arm and snapped a vial into place. Blood sprayed against the back of the tube.

"Oh, you don't remember?" The nurse pulled a small spongy ball out of the tray on the side table and put it in the girl's hand. "Squeeze this please, not too hard."

"All right," she said, squeezing. "But, no, I don't remember. Am I sick?"

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Susan said, tapping the vial gently. "You have a very good doctor."

Satisfied with the sample, the nurse switched to a second vial. The girl continued to squeeze the ball, watching the blood flow quickly.

"Am I sick?" she repeated. "What's wrong with me?"

Susan laid a piece of gauze against the needle site and removed the needle. She had steady hands and it didn't hurt. She bent the girl's arm up to put pressure on the dressing.

It seemed like the nurse hadn't heard the question, carefully labeling the samples in silence. She took a small clipboard from the same tray and began to write what must have been a detailed note. Finally, she put her pen down. She wrapped the girl's arm with a colorful, sticky bandage.

"Now, don't you worry," she grinned, patting her patient on the shoulder. "Just relax and let us do the heavy lifting. You'll be right as rain in no time."

The girl couldn't help but smile. She felt safe. As Susan left with the tray, she picked up the remote and turned on the television on the opposite wall. The old set crackled to life.

The picture that faded on was black and white, some old movie. It seemed to have just started and the girl was intrigued. Something about a chimpanzee funeral. It was strange and dark, but interesting.

The nurse returned, knocking politely. She was carrying another blue tray.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

"I'm a little thirsty," the girl said. "And could I maybe get a snack?"

"Oh, sure you can."

Susan set her tray down and filled a syringe. It was a clear liquid, but the girl couldn't see the label on the bottle. The nurse noticed her staring.

"This is just an antibiotic, darlin'," she chuckled. "Nothing to worry about. Just a little stick, and I'll come right back with a drink and a snack."

"I'm sick, then?" The girl was relieved to know what was wrong.

"No worries," Susan said cheerfully. "You'll be right as rain in no time."

The shot barely hurt. The nurse was very good with a needle. She asked for snack suggestions and said she'd check the cafeteria. When she left, the girl turned back to the tv.

The same movie had begun playing. It must've been a matinee or something. No matter, it was a good film. After just a few minutes, the girl was feeling drowsy.

_That makes sense_ , she thought. _After all, if I'm fighting an infection, I need to take it easy._

She settled down into the bed and closed her eyes.


	2. Sweet, Like Veal

A bright light shone in her eyes. She tried to raise a hand, but couldn't move. She could feel hands tugging on her gown.

_Am I in surgery? I can't be. I'm awake._

As the gown came off, the light was moved to a more oblique angle. With less glare, her eyes adjusted.

Her head was elevated. The wall in front of her was white. Nurse Susan was looking down on her. Another figure was putting on gloves. It certainly seemed like a surgical suite.

"She's out," Susan said. "Her eyes are open, but she's out."

"I like that her eyes are open." The other voice was male, deep and rumbling.

When he turned, there was no doubt that he wasn't a doctor. Instead of scrubs, he wore a dark dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Tattoos fell down his arms and into his gloves. His face was haunting. It was pale with dark eyes and lips. Dark hair fell over one cheek.

The man reached to one side. There was a sound like silverware in a drawer. He turned back to the girl with a scalpel in his hand. She screamed, but there was no movement, only a thudding pain in her head.

She could see her bare body and the knife looming over it. Slowly, the man made a long cut across her belly. Blood welled up in beads. There was another cut, and then another, rungs down her abdomen. There was no pain, only pressure.

The man leaned down and gathered the blood on his tongue. The girl could smell his sweat. When he rose up, there was a streak of blood from his lips to his chin.

It seemed to energize him. He moved to one of her small breasts and cut across the top. She could tell he was pressing harder. As the scalpel moved, it exposed a white membrane. The membrane split and yellow fat bulged out like the foam in a sofa cushion. Blood flowed into the wound, turning it pink. The man dug into it with gloved fingers.

"That's good," he growled. "It's silky."

"If you like the fat, you could try the thighs," Susan offered.

The girl couldn't believe what she was hearing. Not only was the nurse aware of what this monster was doing, she was making suggestions. Was she being paid? Where were the other nurses and doctors?

The man's scalpel traced the curve of her thigh, opening a deep gash. There was more blood. It was less like her breast and more like a piece of meat. The man touched the flesh inside, smearing his gloves. His breath quickened.

He dug for a new tool and returned with a larger knife. It looked more like a craft blade than a scalpel. Using short strokes, he pushed farther through the greasy fat and toward the muscle. The knife was soon slick with blood.

"Would you like a towel?" Susan's voice came from the other side of the table.

The man said nothing and began to dig in the cut. The girl's body shook as he tugged and pushed on her thigh. Susan handed him a pair of forceps that hooked like a hawk's beak. He took them and continued his assault. There was a sick slurping sound as he pulled out a small piece of flesh.

He seemed pleased with his prize and held it in front of his face. His dark lips parted and his tongue flicked the raw muscle. It was perverse. The girl wanted to vomit. She couldn't even cry.

"Torch," the man said simply.

After a light hiss and few metallic clinks, Susan passed him a lighted butane torch. He held it up to the end of the forceps. Slowly, a smell not unlike a pork chop dropped into a skillet filled the room.

With the lit torch in one hand and the bit of seared thigh in the other, the man looked like a character from an awful movie. His arms were glistening. His gloves had gone from blue to purple with scarlet stripes. 

He carefully took the chunk of meat into his mouth and began to chew. His dark lips made every movement of his jaw obvious. He savored the bite, his eyes closed. The girl watched as he swallowed her flesh and sighed in approval.

"Chewy," he declared to no one in particular. "Sweet, like veal. Mild. But tough from use. I bet it would be a great stew. Some beer, some onions, a nice dark bread."

Finished with his critique, the man turned to the torch in his hand, as though he suddenly realized he had it. He cocked an eyebrow and unceremoniously directed the flame into the gaping thigh wound. The edges turned red, then blistered and black.

He seemed taken by the novelty and laid another burn on the same leg. The girl couldn't see how bad it was, but she could smell burning hair. He seemed to leave several more burns, fixating on one spot after another.

 _This is only a dream_ , she repeated to herself. _This is only a dream. This is only a dream._

The man cleared his throat and turned the gas down, extinguishing the flame. He looked at the girl and pursed his lips.

"Let's call it a night," he said in a bored tone. "I have plans for you tomorrow, princess."

His gloves squeaked when he pulled them off. He dropped them on the girl's unresponsive body. Nurse Susan moved the light back into the girl's face. It burned white.


	3. Leslie

"Good afternoon, sleepyhead!"

The girl yawned and rubbed her eyes. She felt strange. Her eyes turned toward the voice. A bubbly blonde nurse in blue scrubs was adjusting an IV bag.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm not sure," the girl mumbled. "Am I in a hospital?"

"Nothing to worry about, sunshine." The nurse's cheery demeanor was comforting. "We'll have you right as rain in no time."

A throbbing pain rose in the girl's thigh. She winced. Some kind of bandage was visible under the thin sheet.

"My leg... Was I in an accident? I can't remember."

The nurse came around the bed and sat on a stool. She took the girl's hand.

"Well, if you don't remember me, I guess we'd better start over. I'm Leslie and I'm going to take good care of you."

Her smile was perfect. The girl couldn't help but smile back. There was a small tray on the side table. Leslie took a pair of gloves from the tray and pulled them on.

"It's perfectly normal to be forgetful after anesthesia," she said. "But I'm going to need to redress your leg. It's a surgical site. Nothing serious, I promise. You have an excellent doctor."

The girl nodded and held still as the sheet was pulled back. Her gown barely covered her knees. Beneath it, there was a large bandage across the thickest part of her thigh. Several small ones dotted the skin below it.

The nurse focused on the large wound and smiled as she removed the dressing. The incision looked horrible. The stitches seemed longer than they should've been. It was weeping and looked almost black at the edges. The air stung.

"Is it supposed to be like that?" The girl's voice shook.

"It's perfectly normal," Leslie said, applying a fresh pad and tape. "Sometimes things look much worse than they are. You just relax."

The fresh bandage did feel a bit better. It still hurt, though, and the girl told her so.

"No problem, pumpkin. Let me put something nice in that IV."

Leslie drew a syringe of clear liquid from a bottle in her tray. She stepped back to the bag and pole and added the medication through an orange button. She seemed so professional, it was impossible not to trust her.

"Is there anything else you need, sweetie?"

"I'm a little hungry," the girl said sheepishly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the nurse replied, picking up her tray. "You're NPO. That is, you're not cleared to have anything by mouth. But don't worry, that IV will take care of any hunger or thirst you're feeling. Now, I'll be back in a bit to check on you. Just relax and we'll have you right as rain in no time."

Leslie closed the door on her way out. The girl looked around and noticed a remote control on the side table. She picked it up and turned on the tv in front of her. It made a popping sound as it came on.

It was an old show or something, black and white. It seemed familiar. An older woman in a head scarf was talking to a man. Her eyebrows were severe. The girl tried to remember where she'd seen it before.

The movie was strange, dark and emotional. There must've been something wrong with the dvd player, though. It skipped a few times, restarting scenes that were almost finished. It wasn't a big deal, but she thought to mention it to the nurse later.

The pain in her thigh quieted. She felt more relaxed, and a little off-balance. She looked down at the remote in her hand, the neckline of the gown she was wearing, the call button wound around the half rail on the bed. They almost felt like props. A feeling of deja vu sat uncomfortably in her stomach.

 _Don't be stupid_ , she told herself. _You obviously were here before the surgery. You just don't remember it clearly. Leslie said it happens with anesthesia._

She pushed the nagging uneasiness to some unused corner of her mind and focused on the film. It was funny and sad.

Content in the knowledge that she was safe and cared for, she closed her eyes.


	4. No Biting

There were little sensations at first. Her body shifted. Her arms were moved to her side. There was a tug as a belt was tightened. She had the impression that she'd fallen asleep somewhere strange and was being put back in her bed. The bed was hard, though. Her eyes fluttered.

A stiff cuff tightened around her wrist and she opened her eyes. She looked down groggily and saw a pair of hands pulling a second cuff tight and buckling it. The hands belonged to the spirited blonde nurse. The girl lifted her hand and heard a metallic clang as she reached the end of a short chain.

"Leslie?" It was barely coherent.

"You just relax now," the nurse replied, adjusting the girl's head. "Nothing to worry about."

A strap was pulled tight around the girl's forehead. It hurt and she winced. She had a growing awareness that something strange was happening. She tried to sit up. The strap held her head in place. A belt under her arms kept her from wriggling free. Her ankles were held rigidly as well. Only her hands could move, and only an inch or two.

"What's going on?" Her voice was soft and dry, but clear.

"She's coming back," Leslie said.

The girl could hear heavy footsteps coming from across the room. A firm hand touched her face. She could barely see the man from her oblique angle. He was wearing a white shirt. Scrubs? Was this another surgery?

The table shuddered and tilted, standing the girl up and then leaning her forward, just enough for her to feel heavy. Something sturdy snapped into place. Her hair brushed past her shoulders. A soft hand, Leslie's, tucked it behind the girl and out of the way. It was disorienting, to be held in place by straps, floating in midair. The feeling of falling threw her stomach into her throat.

The man's hands, holding a wooden stool, came into view first. They were tattooed with black nails. He cleared his throat and sat down, looking into her face. His white shirt gapped at the top, revealing more ink. His eyes and lips were black smudges, like tar. She had seen him somewhere before and didn't want him near her.

"Now here's what's going to happen," he began in a calm and measured voice. "I'm going to do what I want, and you're going to be a good girl for me. That means no biting and no going to sleep. Is that clear?"

The girl had begun to cry. She pressed her eyes tightly together and hummed her agreement. Maybe if she didn't engage, she'd wake up. Maybe if she held still, he'd disappear.

"Hey." He landed a light smack to her cheek. "Stay with me, princess. Open your mouth a little."

She obeyed and he began to outline her lips. He was focused and careful, leaning back to see her face straight-on. The absurdity of it made her certain that she was dreaming. He moved on to a deep red, almost purple, lipstick. He held it up for her to see, then applied it with care.

When he was finished, he leaned close to her face and repeated, "No biting."

He kissed her. It was a gentle brush of his lips on hers. He smelled like sweat and smoke. She enjoyed it, despite the fear. It made her wonder if she was overreacting. He hadn't actually hurt her, and hadn't said he would. And besides, none of it was real.

"Now the fun begins," he breathed into her mouth.

Leslie rolled a cart toward him. It had a squeaky wheel and looked like a laptop desk. There was a blue tray on top, filled with metal implements. He chose two padded forceps and tapped the bottom of her chin.

"Say 'Ahh'," he directed when she didn't open up.

She slowly parted her lips. He used two fingers to pry her jaw further and wallow her tongue out of her mouth. The girl tried to stay passive. She figured she could wait out whatever weird sex thing was about to happen, and get this dream analyzed later.

One of the forceps closed on one side of her tongue. The pressure was tremendous. She whimpered in pain. Once the tool clicked into place, he let go of it. It was like a vice, hanging heavily. The second pair of forceps was locked on the other side. Tears squeezed out of her eyes.

"Now, don't start crying yet," he murmured. "I haven't even done anything."

He dug in the tray to retrieve what looked like a hobby knife, a sharply pointed blade on a round handle. He took both forceps in one hand, holding her tongue taut.

When the blade came up through the center of her tongue, she screamed. It was a sharp pain that intensified as the upper surface gave way. There was a terrible burning that began to slide down the center of her tongue, a steady tug. Finally, the blade reached the edge and finished the split. She heard the tool clatter back into the tray.

He moved the forceps back and forth, examining the cut surfaces. He licked his lips. There wasn't much blood, but she was drooling. The tears weren't helping. After a few minutes of toying with the two halves of her tongue, he leaned in and licked the raw muscle. She rattled her arm restraints and made tiny begging sounds.

The throbbing and burning after removing the forceps was worse than the pressure of having them on. She blinked hard and wept, pink spit forming long strings down her chin and to the floor. She didn't dare draw her tongue back into her mouth, afraid of scraping it against her teeth.

"That wasn't so bad, was it, princess?" He was mocking her, an inky grin splashed across his face.

"This is only a dream," she sobbed, her protruding tongue garbling the words. "This is only a dream."

"Is it, now?"

The man began to dig in the tray, inspecting tools and tossing them aside. He settled on an unusual pair of pliers with very short jaws. They looked new and caught the light when he clicked them in the girl's face.

"Then you won't mind opening up."

The girl pulled her stinging tongue into her mouth and set her jaw. He tapped her chin and received a defiant grunt in return. He didn't seem to mind, in fact his smile may have broadened.

He whistled and was joined by Leslie, who had apparently been watching the mutilation. She picked up a screwdriver-like tool and held it to the girl's lips. It was cold.

"It's ok, angel," Leslie said in her characteristically sweet voice. "You just relax. We'll have you right as rain in no time."

The girl continued to cry as the tool was forced between her lips. It hit her front teeth and began to rock up and down. She looked back at the man. His face was a blur of white and black.

The girl didn't want to open her mouth, but she was afraid of what would happen if she didn't. Would he break her jaw to force it open? She didn't want to experience that, even in a dream. At least if she cooperated, he might be more merciful. With a sob of resignation, the girl opened her teeth.

The tool was cold on her tongue. Leslie started to insert something else, but the man took it from her. It looked like a mousetrap of some sort with handles on one side. He ran his lips and tongue over it, touching every surface, then held it to the girl's mouth.

The tubing of the device was hooked behind her front teeth. As the handles were squeezed, the top and bottom were ratcheted open. The girl fought her wrist cuffs, banging them loudly against the table. Soon her jaws were held wide apart.

The man cracked his knuckles and leaned close. He closed the pliers around one of the girl's lower molars and began to pry and twist. The room echoed with a frightened shriek. She could feel a crunching vibration in her jaw. The pain was worse than anything she'd ever felt. Finally, the tooth came loose.

"I only need a few, princess," the man said, sucking the blood off of the bifurcated root. He dropped the tooth into the tray and it bounced like a button.

True to his word, the man took four more teeth. One, he said, had cracked and was unusable. The girl didn't care. She was exhausted, limp against the straps. A muffled fog came over her and the lights went out.

 


	5. Linda

She woke with a start in a shadowy room. Her heart was racing. In one corner, she thought she saw a tall man with dark features. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. The shape was gone.

 _No_ , she thought. _There's no one there. You just had a nightmare. Everything's fine._

She sat up in bed, careful not to disturb her IV, and reached for the remote. Her mind was fuzzy, but she certainly wasn't going back to sleep.

The old TV hissed. A man and a woman were watching a film projected on a wall. Bizarrely, it was the same movie that she'd watched the day before. Frustrated, she hit the mute button.

She yawned, or rather she tried to yawn. Her mouth wouldn't open and her jaws ached at the pressure. The girl touched her face. She could open her lips. But behind them, she felt something like a mouth guard. It was sharp and metallic and wouldn't move.

In a panic, she felt along the half rail to her side. There was the call button. She mashed it with both thumbs and watched the window in the door. The hall light flickered. It felt like hours before the door was opened and the light turned on.

"Are you all right, buttercup?" The nurse looked concerned.

The girl tried to talk but could only mumble. Her tongue felt huge. She pointed to her mouth and made loud, urgent sounds.

"Ok, I see that you're upset," the nurse said gently. "It's perfectly normal to be forgetful after anesthesia. Just breathe, ok? It's nothing to worry about.

The girl coughed. The more upset she became, the more her entire face throbbed. She tried to breathe deeply through her nose.

"There's a good girl," the nurse said softly. "Now, we went over this yesterday when I dressed the surgical site on your thigh. Do you remember that?"

The girl nodded weakly.

"You've had a blood infection that did some damage to your leg and your jaw. They're all taken care of now. You have an excellent doctor. Now you're just recovering from the surgery. That's why your jaw is wired shut."

The girl tried again to speak and grunted in frustration. The nurse leaned over and retrieved a small notebook and pen from the side table. The girl took it and quickly began writing.

_not shut yesterday_

"Of course it was," the nurse said. "But it's normal to not remember things. You've been through a lot. You've slept almost all day. I kept the lights off so you wouldn't be bothered."

_tongue big_

"Yes, it is swollen. And it will be for a little while. That's why I got you this notebook yesterday. And you can always press the call button. Are you in pain now?"

The girl nodded. The nurse touched her shoulder. Her face was sympathetic. Her blonde ponytail and blue scrubs we're calming.

"I'll go get something to take the edge off. I'm sorry I can't bring you anything to drink. You're still NPO. But I could bring some crayons if you want to color, or a book."

_thank you leslie_

"Oh, my name is Linda, darlin'," the nurse smiled. "But don't you worry. It's perfectly normal to forget sometimes. I'll be right back."

Linda patted the girl on the arm and left the room.

 _Linda?_ the girl thought. _I could've sworn it was Leslie._

She laid back in the bed and gingerly touched her cheek. The stinging pain came with an image: a pair of pliers clicking in front of her face. Her heart skipped.

She knew it was a crazy nightmare, even though she couldn't remember much. A ghostly man holding the pliers, a harsh burn down her tongue, a popping sound, the taste of blood. Her jaw must've been hurting terribly to inspire it.

The girl took a deep breath and swallowed. Her tongue felt like a hamburger stuffed in her mouth. She reached down and touched her thigh. It was tender. She remembered it clearly, dark and wet.

Linda returned with a syringe and a small bottle. She drew up some of the medication and injected it into the IV bag.

"This will help, sweetheart," she smiled. "Now you just relax and let us do the heavy lifting. We'll have you right as rain in no time."

_thanks linda_

The girl settled back into her pillow. She was afraid to have another dream like the night before. But she knew sleep would come. The longer she laid, the closer it came. She took a few deep breaths and tried to think positively.

 _Puppies_ , she thought, _and kittens and roses. Roses and rain. Roses and rain._


	6. Always Be With Me

_Roses and rain_ , she thought groggily, lifting her head. _Roses and rain._

"Welcome back, princess." The low rumble of his voice pulled her eyes open.

She followed the sound. He was sitting on a stool in the corner, leaning back, his hands on his thighs. His open shirt barely hid his tattoos. The streak of his smile made her heart pound. It was like looking into a pit.

The girl looked around for a door, a weapon, anything to stop whatever he had planned. She quickly realized her head was free but her arms were not. They were cuffed to the arms of the chair she was sitting in. Her feet, too, were cuffed. She arched her back, hoping somehow to break free.

The deep thump of boots crossed the room. She turned her face away. There, inches from her face, was a blonde ponytail. Linda was bending down to insert a fresh needle in the girl's arm. As she taped it in place, a cold hand pulled her chin back.

"Don't be like that, princess," he said softly. "I might think you don't love me."

He knelt beside her and took her jaw in his hand. The pressure was painful. He leaned in and kissed her, just as gently as he had before. His lips were soft, almost tender. He layered kiss after kiss on her mouth. But his scent brought tears to her eyes.

"We're good here."

Linda's voice broke his trance and he stood up. He retrieved his stool and sat in front of the girl, stretching his long legs between them.

She looked down at her arm. The needle was now connected to a clear tube that was apparently shunting her blood into a bag. She couldn't see the bag, but she recognized the setup from a blood drive when she was young.

 _Maybe this is it_ , she thought. _Maybe it's just blood. Maybe he won't really hurt me._

"Oh!" He brought her attention back. "I didn't show you my new jewelry."

He leaned forward and presented a wide knuckle duster ring. It was silver, inlaid with pearls. No, not pearls. She let out a muffled cry as she recognized her own teeth. One had a distinctive heart-shaped filling that was only a few months old.

The man brought his hand back and ran his tongue over the teeth. His eyes were on her, taking in her reaction. She squirmed and shook her head. It seemed to please him. He reached out and stroked her knee, just below the hem of her gown.

"I just wanted you to know that you'll always be with me."

Linda placed a foam ball in the girl's hand.

"Squeeze this please," she instructed. "Not too hard."

The girl tearfully complied. She remembered now that she'd cooperated when he pulled her teeth. Now he only wanted blood. If she played along again, maybe she could find a way to escape. She focused on the ball, counted the squeezes. The needle site burned. Linda would occasionally check the bag.

Finally, she announced, "It's full."

The girl expected to have the needle removed, but instead another bag was connected. The full bag was handed to the man. He chuckled and locked eyes with the girl.

"I waited a long time for this, you know. You were under for a few days. Our last bit of fun took a lot out of you."

He turned the bag over in his hands as he spoke, massaging it. It looked like warm raspberry syrup, leaving a translucent coating on the bag as it sloshed from end to end. The girl tried to focus on the foam ball - squeeze and release - but she couldn't take her eyes off of him.

He held the bag upright and twisted a small piece of plastic off. She looked on, horrified, as he raised it to his murky lips. She could see his throat move as he swallowed. After a few moments, he pulled the bag away and sighed.

The girl gagged. Her swollen tongue made it hard to breathe. Her head moved forward and her chest heaved. She felt Linda's voice in her ear.

"Just breathe, ok?" she whispered. "It's nothing to worry about."

The girl tried to focus on breathing deeply through her nose and squeezing the ball. A fuzzy voice echoed in her head. _No going to sleep. Is that clear?_ She didn't want to pass out. Who knows what he would do to her if she did?

He had turned the bag upside down and was slowly squeezing its contents into his upturned mouth. He didn't swallow, but let it pool and overflow, running out of the corners of his mouth and down his neck.

When the last of the blood had been emptied, he spat what was in his mouth onto the floor. The splash left droplets on the girl's foot. She could feel their warmth turning cold as they began to dry.

There was a tug on her arm as Linda switched bags again. It wasn't full, but it seemed more important to keep him happy than to get a complete pint. He exchanged the empty bag for the new one and immediately tore the cap off of one of the small tubes.

He poured some of the blood into his hand. It closed into a fist and red seeped between his fingers. His breathing was loud, quick, excited. More blood went on his hand and he wiped it across his chest. He massaged some into his forearms, lubricating his tattoos. The room smelled like raw meat.

The room warped and the girl's head drooped. She felt cold and sick. Her eyes were heavy. Linda pulled the needle from her arm, applied a gauze pad and wrapped it. There were footsteps and movements, nothing that made sense.

"Don't worry, princess."

Linda's gentle hands lifted the girl's head to face him. He looked like a slaughter house gutter. His hair, his face, his clothes were sticky and red. His own arm was now connected to a bag, his hand pulsing open and closed.

The nurse's gentle voice faded out with the rest of the world.

"We'll have you right as rain in no time."


	7. Please Stop It

Her eyes opened and closed several times. The air burned them like chlorine. Her mind thawed and she was able to make out the shaft of light from the door, the silent tv. A sudden rush of adrenaline forced her lids open.

He had taken her blood - the man with the black eyes and lips. He had played with it. He had pulled her teeth. He had kept them. He had tortured her. And the nurse, the nurse was complicit.

 _I have to get out of here_ , the girl thought. _If I can get down the hall, I can find another nurse._

She reached toward the end table for the notebook and pen she'd been given. Her hand shook and the pressure of the pen was uneven, but she did her best to condense her memory of the last few days.

 _please help_  
_linda and man_  
_hurt me_  
_at night_  
_please stop it_

As she wrote, a twinge in her elbow reminded her of the IV. She would need to remove it before getting out of bed. Notebook in her lap, she turned to remove the needle.

The tube was dark. Her eyes ran up the line to the hook of the IV pole. Instead of the clear saline mix she'd been given before, there was a half-empty bag of blood. On the bag's label, in thick black marker, was a lopsided heart and the word _princess_.

A ball of anger grew in her throat. She tore the needle out, unconcerned by the spurt of blood that came with it. She could feel him under her skin like wriggling maggots. She wanted to squeeze her arm until all of it was gone. But there wasn't time. She couldn't know when Linda would return with more sedatives.

The girl tossed the sheet back and swung her legs over the side. She stood, swaying, as if she were in a boat. How long had it been since she'd walked? Clutching the open notebook to her chest, she lurched toward the door. Her knees were weak. She fell against the wood and gripped the handle.

It turned easily, but her weight stopped her from opening it. She shifted to gain her balance and slowly pulled. The door hinge creaked softly. She stepped past the threshold and into a sea of fluorescent light.

The hallway was white and silent. There were no doors, no signs, no people. There was no intercom. She was utterly alone. To her right, the hall ended in a solid wall. To her left, there appeared to be a corner. She began to walk toward it, leaning against the wall for support.

Her footsteps were heavy. The slap of her bare feet on the cold tile seemed to echo. She focused on her steps, one at a time. Despite the adrenaline, she was nearly spent.

 _Just one more_ , she told herself again and again. _Just one more._

She couldn't fill her lungs all the way up. She couldn't swallow. Drool escaped her wired teeth and dribbled down her chin. Her joints were stiff. Still, the corner got closer and closer until she could curl her fingers around it.

 _Please let someone see me_ , she thought. _Someone has to see me._

She took a few steps down the perpendicular corridor and tripped. Her foot buckled and her weight came down on her toes. The failure cascaded up her body. Her knee hit the tile, then her hand, then her elbow. The floor was hard against her tender jaw. Tears collected on her eyelashes. The light faded to a murky blue.

Soft footsteps approached. The girl pushed her notebook toward the sound. Her fingers flexed and it slid beyond her reach. She offered it like a message in a bottle. The footsteps stopped in front of her. She exhaled and the tide went out.


	8. How Much I Care

The back of his hand whipped her face to the side. She cried out. The pain in her jaw burned into her eyes and ears and neck. For a moment, she lost all sense of the present. She had a vague idea that this had been going on for a while.

The man turned her face toward him. The slash of his mouth turned down in contempt and disgust.

"I'm very upset with you, princess."

Had his voice always been so deep? It matched the heaviness of his boots on the floor. As he circled the bed, she rattled the cuffs around her wrists. Her legs were bent above her. She could see a bar across her thighs. She pulled but the frame, whatever it was, held her firm.

"After all we've been through," he continued, "you want to leave? You want to throw away what we have?"

He kicked the corner of the bed. It shifted several inches and the sound rang in her ears like a gunshot. She stared at him, eyes wide. She knew much about his sadism. But something told her she knew nothing about his anger.

He walked in a wide circle, sniffing and pushing his hair back. The girl moved her head as much as she could, trying to get a better layout of the room. No nurse. There seemed to be nothing besides her bed and the angry man.

"Oh, she's not here," he said, commanding her attention again. "I was a little unhappy with her, too. She was supposed to help you rest. You need your sleep. How hard is it to put someone to sleep?!"

His question was booming, almost a scream, and directed at no one. She began to cry. Tears ran over her temple and collected in her ear. He looked toward the ceiling and covered his face with his hands. He continued to speak softly but his fingers caught the words and she couldn't make them out. He stood in one place, mumbling, for a long time.

Eventually, he lowered his head and hands. He slicked his oily hair back and cleared his throat. Then he walked to the side of the bed and bent over her. He stroked her cheek.

"I'm sorry, princess," he hummed. "I shouldn't have lost my temper. Let's not let it come between us, hmm?"

He leaned down and kissed her. His mouth was light and loving. In spite of herself, she found it comforting. At least he wasn't angry anymore. At least there was a chance she'd leave the room alive. She kissed back, an offer of submission.

He raised his head and looked at her face, swollen and red. He wiped at her tears. He brushed her hair back and stroked her forehead. The shadow of his mouth turned up at the edges. He sighed.

"Unfortunately," he whispered, touching her lower lip with his thumb, "I'm going to have to make sure you don't try to leave me again."

He stood straight and moved out of her line of sight. There was a sound like glass bottles clinking together. Fear rose in her chest. She didn't have long to speculate on his actions. He returned to her bedside with a canvas drawstring bag that apparently held the bottles. He laid it carefully on the floor.

His foot came down hard on the bag, shattering something inside. He stomped on it again and again. The sound changed as large pieces became smaller shards. He picked up the bag and shook it. It sounded like a chandelier.

He stepped to the foot of the bed, where her legs were wedged in place. Something wet - a kiss? - landed on the side of her right foot. Then she felt the bag slip over it. There was a tight tug as the drawstring was tied around her calf.

His hands raised the bottom of the bag and pressed the glass inside to her heel. The cuts stung and she grunted. But as he moved his hands, the shards shifted, recutting the same skin and moving to new areas. Her grunts soon became gasping screams.

"I know you love me, princess," he reassured her as he massaged the glass into her flesh. "We're going to be together very soon... intimate... like I know you want."

The girl jerked against her bonds and sobbed. Her foot was on fire. Splinters of glass broke off under her shredded skin. Tiny grains embedded themselves in her wounds. She howled and tried to pull her foot away. But every movement seemed to expose new flesh. The glass slipped between her toes and under the nails.

By the time he removed the bag, she was feverish. Her stomach churned at the thought of her foot, now a stump of raw meat. She had pressed her tongue violently against the roof of her mouth and a pool of infected blood had formed in her mouth. She turned her head and let it leak through her teeth and onto the bed.

He brushed a few loose pieces from the bottom of her tenderized foot and moved the bag to her left side. There was barely enough energy left in her to scream. He moved his fingers methodically and, as she descended into a babbling stupor, began to speak again.

"Sometimes people hurt each other. Maybe it's a selfish hurt, like rejection. Maybe it's a righteous hurt, like punishment. Love means we hurt each other," he said with a patient, fatherly tone. "Just because you hurt me, princess, doesn't mean you don't love me. And this little punishment doesn't mean I don't love you."

He pulled the bag off and flicked loose glass off of her toes. She lolled her head toward him and saw the now-dripping bag in his hands. He dropped it on the floor. His hand swiped across his forehead as he surveyed his work.

"If anything," he continued, digging his phone out of his pocket, "this strengthens our bond. Now you can see how much I care."

The phone's camera flash went off again and again. He brought it to her side and showed her a picture. Her foot looked like it had been pared and boiled. It was glistening and angry. Patches of raw muscle were divided by deep cuts and pale straps of tendon. One toenail was hanging, more were just gone.

He flipped through the photographs slowly. She was dizzy. She couldn't feel her feet, just an intense chill. A wet sob hit her tongue and melted.

"Shhhh," he whispered, brushing her sweat-soaked hair. "We're going to be together soon, princess. I'm going to give you my body."

She closed her eyes and fell backwards into the void of her mind.

"I'm going to love you like you've never been loved before."

 


	9. Patricia

A feeling like static started at her toes and washed up her legs. It was uncomfortable and she wrinkled her nose. A finger twitched, then another. Her face turned to the side, seeking comfort, and a bright light turned the darkness red.

Her thoughts sputtered as she came into herself. She turned away from the light and cracked her eyes open. She could see a wall of white with a grey streak. A few blinks, and more than a few seconds, and she identified the IV pole.

There was a sour taste in her mouth. She had the sense that everything was wrong. But her thoughts were scattered and she couldn't understand why.

The darkness came back, then melted away. She had no idea how many times. She felt warm. There was a strange kind of pain, annoying, not urgent. But the light persisted and, eventually, she woke.

"Good morning, sugar," a familiar voice called out. "Rise and shine!"

The girl raised a hand to wipe her eyes. Her memories became ordered: the nurse, the man, the pain. She looked down at her feet. They were wrapped with thick bandages.

"Oh, don't worry about that," the blonde nurse said gently. "You had a little accident, but it's nothing to worry about."

"Accident?" The girl was surprised by her own voice. "I can talk?"

"Of course you can talk, silly," the nurse laughed. "that infection in your jaw was persistent, but the right antibiotic makes a world of difference."

"No," the girl insisted. "The man. He pulled my teeth. He cut my tongue. You were there! You helped him!"

Her voice had risen to a scream. She moved toward the far edge of the bed and looked around for something to protect herself with. There was nothing. She pulled the sheet up like a child.

"You did this! My leg, my face, my blood! You put his blood in me!"

The nurse sat on a stool next to the bed. Her face took on an uncharacteristic sternness. She folded her hand in her lap.

"If you don't calm down," she said, "I'm going to have to give you a sedative. I know you're upset, but you could hurt yourself. Now sit down here and let's talk about this."

The girl took a deep breath. She didn't want to be sedated. She'd just wake up in that terrible room again. At least, if she was awake, she could fight back. She settled into the center of the bed and glared suspiciously at the nurse.

"I know what I saw, Linda. You kept me drugged and chained up. I would pass out and wake up in that room. He cut up my tongue and took out my teeth. He drank my blood. And you helped him, and you covered it up. And now my feet..." The girl sobbed, gesturing toward the bandages.

"Ok," the nurse began. "Let's start with my name. It's Patricia. I've been looking after you for quite a while. It's perfectly normal to be forgetful after anesthesia."

The girl shook her head. It was a lie. She didn't forget. She remembered. She remembered everything.

"What's not common," Patricia continued, "is post-operative psychosis. You've been in a lot of pain, sweetie. Your mind has just been trying to process that. The truth is that you had an awful infection. Your fever was so high, I didn't know if you'd make it. There was a pocket in your thigh and a pocket in your jaw. Your thigh was easy, but your jaw... You lost some teeth and your tongue was biopsied."

The girl touched her cheek. She did remember the taste of pus. And the incision on her leg. She could feel the bandage through the sheet.

"We wired your jaw. You were acting irrationally and we didn't want to risk having a new infection set in so close to your brain. Then a few days later, you had an accident."

She gestured toward the door. The rectangular window was taped over.

"I'm so sorry this has happened to you." Patricia laid her hand on the girl's leg. "These past two weeks must have been an absolute nightmare."

"Then why don't I remember breaking the window?" the girl asked. "All I remember is going through the door and into the hallway."

"You did, darlin', but your door was locked. You broke the window to open it from the outside."

"Who is the man?" the girl demanded. "The man with the black eyes and mouth. How do I remember him if he doesn't exist?"

"I think that you were partly conscious during your surgery. Thst happens from time to time. You saw the doctor in his face mask and goggles, and felt the pain in recovery, and put it together."

 _Is that true?_ she thought. _Could I have made it all up?_

Patricia's face was so sincere. And the girl felt relatively good. She wasn't dizzy or sleepy or sick. There were no cuffs. Wouldn't the man have kept her sedated? Wouldn't he have restrained her? The more she sat in the lit room, the more plausible the nurse's story was. She nodded.

"I'm just glad you're feeling better," Patricia smiled. "You can come to the cafeteria for lunch, if you like. I think today is meatloaf."

"I'd like that."

"Wonderful," the nurse sighed. "I have a few more patients to check in on, but I'll come back as soon as I can with a wheelchair. We'll go down together."

Patricia stood and walked out of the room. When the door was open, the sound of rolling carts and conversations filtered in. It was a hospital, a real one, not some crazy torture chamber.

The girl took the remote from the side table and turned on the tv. It made a sizzling sound as it powered up. Black and white shapes slowly filled in.

A woman in a shawl and gown stood in a crowd of reporters and said, "I promise I'll never desert you again." Her eyes were wide and wild. The picture paused at the end of her line, then skipped back to the beginning. After a few repetitions, the girl turned it off, unnerved.

Soon, Patricia arrived with the wheelchair. Her presence soothed her patient's unease. She helped the girl sit and then pushed her into the hall.

There were no doors in the hall, but there was a sign at the corner, pointing the way to an emergency exit. The girl hadn't remembered it. Of course she hadn't. It didn't fit the narrative in her mind.

They turned the corner and headed down another short hallway, terminating in a door.

"Just let me get this," Patricia said, locking the chair's wheels.

The girl waited patiently, a smile on her face. Maybe she really would be right as rain in no time.


	10. Let Me Go

Patricia pulled the door open and a blinding light filled the hall. The girl brought her arm up to block it out. She felt the chair move again and the door close behind them.

"What's wrong with the light in here?" the girl asked, wincing.

She saw it dim through her eyelids and blinked to get her sight back. The chair had stopped. Gradually, the black and white shapes faded and her surroundings came into focus.

She was in a familiar room, plain and terrifying. An adjustable bed sat in the center of the room. She slapped her cheek and willed herself to come back to reality. An arm wrapped around her throat from behind, shattering the illusion that there was any reality beyond this room.

"I'm so glad to see you, princess," he purred, his breath raising goosebumps on her skin.

"No," she said, digging at his skin. "No! Help me! Help!"

The arm tightened and pressed on her windpipe. She quieted down, but began to cry. He smelled her hair and nuzzled the curve of her neck.

"Now here's what's going to happen," he whispered. "I'm going to show you how much I love you, and you're going to be a good girl for me. That means no biting and no going to sleep. Is that clear?"

The words pounded in the girl's head, familiar and disgusting. She nodded. He released her and walked over to the bed. The frame clicked as he adjusted the height.

Seeing an opening, the girl thought to run for the door. As soon as she stood, she collapsed. The pain in her feet ran up her legs like a pipe. She groaned and sobbed. Heavy footsteps approached.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm," the man said gently, picking her up. "But you need to let me help."

He carried her like a bride and laid her gently on the bed. She covered her eyes with her hands. He touched her shoulder and she flinched.

"No need to be so shy, princess. I'll be as gentle as can be."

He lowered her hands and looked into her eyes. She saw him for the first time without the haze of drugs. He was handsome. His eyes were blacked with makeup and his lips were actually a deep, rich purple. She felt as though she'd been fighting a paper doll of him. Seeing the real him was bizarre.

"No biting," he reminded as he knelt toward her.

She remembered his kiss. It was loving, tacky from his makeup. Without sedation, it was vivid. She began to wonder if she knew him before this, if they were friends, if they were lovers.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked when he pulled away. Her voice trembled.

"I'm going to give you a piece of my body, and you're going to give me a piece of yours."

"Then you'll let me go?"

"If that's what you want," he said, touching her cheek.

It sounded simple. Sex for freedom. Even if it was horrific sex, painful sex, it would be worth it. She nodded, determined to play along.

He adjusted her body so that she was flat on her back and whistled. Soft footsteps meant that Patricia was there. She pulled up a seat on the far side of the bed and leaned over the girl. She seemed resigned but smiled.

"He wants something," she whispered. "I'll take care of it. You just focus on him. You won't feel a thing and you'll be right as rain in no time."

The girl nodded and responded to Patricia's hands, moving her arm. There was a pinch, then another, as the nurse numbed the entire left elbow area. A fuzzy feeling spread toward her hand. The girl's arm felt warm, then cool and absent.

 _Worst case scenario_ , she thought, _I lose some fingers. I can live with that, if it means getting out of here._

She turned and looked at him. He smiled, perfect teeth framed by violet lips. She brought her right hand up and stroked his bare chest. His tattoos seemed to begin there and branch out, laying tendrils of ink down his arms. He returned the caress, tracing the line of her throat.

"I'm going to give you something of mine, for you to enjoy," he muttered.

She nodded, expecting him to initiate a sex act. Instead, he dug in the pocket of his dark pants and produced a folding knife. With one smooth movement of his thumb, it swung open.

He held up his left hand and took hold of his ring finger. The first cut was awkward, as if he hadn't thought this far ahead. Still, it was deep. Blood immediately began dripping down his hand and onto her gown.

The next cut was much more skillful. The girl could see the edges yawn open and fill with blood. He scraped the flesh down toward his hand, exposing bone. The knife turned and began to dig into the knuckle.

She watched his face. His eyes were intense, utterly focused on the mechanics of his butchery. His mouth, though, revealed that he still felt the pain. His lips twisted, parted and pressed. They trembled with every shallow breath.

He dropped the knife on to the floor and gripped the mangled finger. With a loud grunt, he twisted and yanked. The finger released with a sickening crack.

He looked into the girl's horrified face, proud of his sacrifice. She swallowed hard, imagining the same vivisection happening to her own hand, not daring to look.

"For you, princess," the man chuckled.

He lifted her robe, dribbling blood along her stomach. She hiked her hips so he could remove her underwear. In spite of her determination to play along, she began to cry. He traced her sex with his severed finger. With the aid of the fresh blood oozing from his injured hand, he slid the finger inside of her, as deep as he could manage.

He lowered her gown and returned to her face. Kiss after kiss landed on her mouth, flavored with lipstick, blood and sweat. She did her best to kiss him back.

From behind her head, she heard a meaty pop. She shuddered, trying not to picture her own mutilated finger. He left her side and she closed her eyes tightly. Minutes passed and he didn't return.

Cautiously, the girl opened her eyes and looked for him. He was sitting in the wheelchair a few feet away, his pants around his knees. It looked as though he was masturbating in a strange way. The girl squinted, trying to make sense of it, then screamed.

Bobbing in his lap was an amputated arm, from elbow to fingers. He had closed the hand around himself and was panting.

A timid glance to her left confirmed the girl's fear. Her arm now ended just below a tourniquet on her bicep. She couldn't feel anything, but she could see the head of the humerus peeking out of the stump. She couldn't hold back her sobs.

In spite of, or because of, her cries, the man finished. He redressed himself and returned to her. He kissed her and touched her cheek.

"You said you'd let me go," she gasped.

"Are you sure that's what you want, princess?" He was still out of breath.

She nodded her head and wiped her face with her hand. He retrieved his knife from the floor and leaned down for a final kiss. As she tried to kiss him back, she felt a slow, sharp pain just beneath her jaw.

Her shoulder was suddenly warm. She quickly felt nauseous. The room unfocused. She tried to push against him, but he stayed firm, pressed into her lips.

_Don't worry, princess. We'll have you right as rain in no time._

The world faded into a headache. The headache melted and she was gone.


End file.
